Dates and Denials
by starry19
Summary: 5x03 Tag – "She fixed him with a stare that she usually reserved for lying suspects that had pushed her buttons in one way or another. "For one, I didn't go on a date." He noted the contracted denial. "And for another, even if I did, it's none of your damn business." Really, how did you think Jane was going to react to Lisbon's news?


**AN: **I really love what they're doing with Lisbon stylistically this season; she looks (well, she _is_) absolutely stunning. On the other hand, someone please come fix Jane's hair. FIX IT NOW.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed Anger and Forgiveness. You make me grin like a moron at inappropriate times.

Also, a return to alliterative titles! Rejoice!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. If you sue me, well…I teach at a public high school. What do you think you're going to get?

**Summary: **5x03 Tag – "She fixed him with a stare that she usually reserved for lying suspects that had pushed her buttons in one way or another. "For one, I didn't go on a date." He noted the contracted denial. "And for another, even if I did, it's none of your damn business."

**Dates and Denials **

Despite Van Pelt flatly refusing to buy him lunch, even _after_ she had insulted him the night before, Jane wasn't having a terrible day.

He had gone to his hotel room the past evening, having renewed the rental agreement the week before. Sometimes he wanted a real bed and a bathroom that had decent lighting. He was tired enough to string a few hours of uninterrupted sleep together, blessedly free of dreams.

Additionally, he had his shoes back.

What he had said to Lisbon about the rentals being comfortable was absolutely true. However, every time he looked at his feet, he wondered why no one had arrested him for crimes against fashion. Or for assaulting the general public's eyes when they had to see such a hideous combination.

Really, besides a prom-bound high-schooler in a white tuxedo, who would possibly buy those shoes? He supposed that was why they were the rentals; it was the only feasible use they had.

Regardless, he had good footwear and a good night's rest, and he set out for work in the morning with his typical humor.

Lisbon seemed relieved to meet him in the parking lot. He knew she worried about him, about what he did at night, but she had also realized that nothing she could say would change him. Well, there were probably a few things, but as he wasn't anticipating any of _those_ comments coming out of her mouth, he was confident she would merely wish him a good morning and not lecture him.

She certainly appeared to having a good morning herself. Her cheeks were pink, beautiful emerald eyes sparkling, and there was a small smile playing around her lips. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn she had a very good date the night before. But this was Lisbon; if she was going on a date, he definitely was going to know about it.

The thought comforted him, but the uncharacteristic picture of Teresa Lisbon checking her cell phone as though she was expecting a non-work related message gave him a small sense of disquiet.

Surely he would have picked up on the I'm-going-on-a-date vibe. Wouldn't he?

He didn't like uncertainty. But he chided himself for being ridiculous, and smiled at her as she approached him.

"Glad to see you got your shoes back," she said by way of greeting, motioning to his feet, dimples out already.

"You're not the only one," he assured her as they turned towards the building.

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you said they were growing on you."

He leaned close to her, whispering in her ear. "I lied." She smelled like shampoo, cinnamon, and a touch of something else. Amber, maybe. It was currently the most comforting scent in his entire world. When he was in Vegas, anytime he got a whiff of something remotely close to Lisbon's particular combination, his heart would ache, just a little.

She smiled at his last comment, handing over her keys and gun to the security guard. He followed her through the metal detector, waiting as she re-holstered her weapon, before they walked together towards the elevator.

The bullpen was pulsing with its usual activity, phones ringing, papers shuffling. He left Lisbon at the door to her office, and took the long route to his couch. Affectionately, he patted the worn cushions as he sat down.

He felt a bit like he was cheating on the piece of furniture. In fact, he hadn't slept anywhere but there since he had returned from Vegas. The couch had definitely been good to him.

In fact, Lisbon had woken him up there the day before. It was a nice surprise, opening his eyes to her close form. The conversation, though work related, had been rather intimate. It was proximity, the fact that he was barely awake, and that they were alone for all intents and purposes. He had definitely enjoyed the closeness.

When Lorelei had escaped, his behavior had been almost comically erratic. They had been _so damn close_ to cracking her, and then the FBI had lost her. Or helped her escape. He hadn't puzzled that out yet. It didn't matter – she was gone and it would be a miracle if they got her back.

It had been a bad couple of days.

But like he had always done in the past when Red John witnesses had been lost, killed, or _whatever_, he had bounced back. The lines in his face were hewn a little deeper, but he would keep going.

As appealing as it was sometimes, he couldn't just throw up his hands and say the hell with it all. It startled him a little, how _tired_ he was getting.

The last cold day they had in Sacramento, he had gone out for a walk and realized his joints were sore. He wasn't a young man, not anymore, and his body was starting to remind him of that. Six months of living like an alcoholic crack-pot hadn't helped things.

Again, though, he had picked himself up and gone on.

The team in general and Lisbon in particular seemed appreciative of his change in behavior. He had time to joke again, to have conversations about pointless topics, to worry about how much coffee Lisbon was drinking.

He had started flirting with her shamelessly, trying to heal the wounds in their relationship. He flirted with Grace, too, happy the redhead trusted him enough to take it at face value.

Still, there was a different quality to the remarks he made to Lisbon. She rarely returned his comments, seemingly willing to let him take control. That was unusual for Type-A Lisbon, and he figured it meant that she didn't really understand what he was doing or how she felt about him in the first place.

That was okay, though, because he did.

He was at Point A. She was at Point B. He needed to find a way to get to her without stopping at Points C, D, X, and 12 along the way.

That afternoon, he camped out in Lisbon's office.

He noticed her preoccupation with her phone again. The device rested on her desk, vibrating from time to time. Someone was sending frequent text messages. Occasionally, one of those said messages caused a wide grin to cross her face.

There was definitely a man, then.

His heart sank a little.

Not that he had any right to be upset or jealous. She certainly wasn't his, wasn't obligated to wait for him to get his life together enough that he could be in any sort of relationship.

Eventually, her cell phone rang. The look on her face told him that she wanted him to go, so naturally, he stayed exactly where he was, half reclined on her couch.

"Hello," she said, in a reasonable facsimile of her professional voice.

The conversation continued with a flirtatious edge, and he found himself frowning.

"No, I had a good time," she was saying. "Well, after the scotch kicked in, that is."

Whatever reply she got, it made her laugh. "I suppose that's true, too," she said.

He found he was paying rapt attention to every word. Was this how Lisbon behaved when she liked someone? It was so…feminine and unexpected.

And then, he was dealt a blow.

"Yeah, Mancini, I suppose you've talked me into doing it again."

He felt his jaw drop. He was aware that he was looking at her like a fish out of water, but it couldn't be helped. As the full implication of her words set in, something that felt suspiciously like betrayal wrapped around his heart.

That was when the anger kicked in.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, as soon as she had hung up the phone.

"Excuse me?" she shot back, guard immediately raised.

"You went on a date with Mancini!" he said, accusing.

She fixed him with a stare that she usually reserved for lying suspects that had pushed her buttons in one way or another. "For one, I didn't go on a date." He noted the contracted denial. "And for another, even if I did, it's none of your damn business."

"Of course it's my business if you go on a date with that idiot!" He needed to stop shouting. People were going to start wondering what was going on in her office. But he couldn't seem to get a handle on his anger.

"Please excuse my ignorance, Jane, but _why_, exactly, are you entitled to an opinion about this?" Her words were razor-edged; he could feel the anger in them.

"Because, Lisbon!" He leaned forward, towards her. "Red John has a man in the FBI. It'd be awfully convenient for him if that man happened to be dating you, wouldn't it?"

Her silence was full of shock for a moment, then indignation took over. "Right, because everyone is out to get us, and there's no way Mancini would ever date me otherwise?"

Too late, he realized he had chosen the wrong words. "I didn't mean it that way," he said, with a little less volume. "But even you have to admit that the women in the Serious Crimes are awfully appealing targets for Red John disciples. Or have you forgotten Craig O'Laughlin?"

Lisbon flinched at the reminder of Grace's fiancée, but held her ground. "You think I don't realize I could be a target? Are you insane?" She snorted.

He stared. "So why are you taking the chance? You don't know anything about this guy." Why, why, why would she put herself in this position? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Her eyebrow arched again. "If I follow that logic, why date anyone? Why not just go home by myself every night and watch TV? I could get a cat or two. That sounds like a great life to lead."

"You know what I mean!" he said, anger flaring up again.

"No," she said, "I'm afraid I don't." She sighed. "Jane, you are being totally irrational. I went to a poker game with Mancini. If you don't believe me, ask Bertram. He was there, too."

"You played poker with Bertram?"

Her lips twitched. "I don't know if that's the right phrase. I took him for all he was worth."

He blinked, and she collected her thoughts again.

"It was a poker game, Jane," she said again. "It wasn't like I got drunk and told Mancini all of your deepest, darkest secrets."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "You don't know all of my secrets, Lisbon."

"I know enough to put you in prison," she reminded him.

He shrugged, conceding the point. "So you played poker. What then?"

She gave him an annoyed look, but answered anyway. "I went home._ By myself_," she emphasized. "End of story."

Jane settled back into the couch cushions, wilder emotions ebbing away.

"And for future reference," she said, steel still threaded through her voice. "Who I do or do not date is not your concern under any circumstance."

Oh, it was, but he knew better than to argue the point. It was not a fight he could win, at least not today. Even if he was right. Instead, petulance won the battle of his clamoring urges.

"Why would you even _want_ to date Mancini?" he asked.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Jane. Maybe it's because he handsome, funny, smart, and has surprisingly little emotional baggage for his age."

He immediately pounced. "So you _do_ want to date him."

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and Jane got the distinct impression that she was controlling herself. "None of your business," she finally said.

He tutted. "Lisbon, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've developed a crush on the dashing FBI agent." Glibness was needed in this situation; he needed to avoid adding more gravity to this conversation. God forbid she realized how he felt. It would just complicate things, and for the moment, he was just happy to be where he was. Happy to be on her couch, in her presence.

"Jane?" she finally said, the heels of her hands pressed to her eyes.

"Hm?" he murmured.

"Just shut up."

He laughed out loud, then stood, crossing the room to stand beside her. "Promise me you'll be careful," he finally said, all mirth gone from his voice. "If something happens to you, Teresa, I would lose the very small fraction of my mind I have left."

She met his eyes, her emerald gaze warm. "I promise," she said softly.

On an impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Her skin was soft, so very smooth.

"And don't be jealous," she added, voice no more than a whisper.

He reached for the door handle. "Sorry, Lisbon. There's no chance of that." Might as well be candid. It wasn't as though he could deny it, anyway.

"Why?" she asked, dark brows furrowing.

He winked. "You know why."

He walked out, giving her no chance to respond. _Love you, Teresa_, he had said.

Yes, she knew why.


End file.
